


Poetry's Muse

by Findarato



Category: Hakuouki
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content, Slight Power Play, Sort of PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 13:09:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8534383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Findarato/pseuds/Findarato
Summary: "Imagination is always better with a good muse, they said. And he has one of the best at the moment."





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Hakuouki is not mine.  
>  **Timeframe:** This one I’m just setting in a nebulous time before Heisuke dying, Souji dying, etc  
>  Spoilers: Hakuouki in general  
> 
> 
> -
> 
> **–** Oneshot, separate from Unsaid. Established relationship.  
>  **–** Sometimes writing is like pulling teeth; I haven’t been able to complete a single thing for a while. So a break is necessary, and then push come to shove…and here is something, finally. Hijisai remains a favourite and I like defaulting to it, so have another hijisai from me XD  
>  **–** HAKUOUKI SHINKAI WILL BE LOCALISED I AM SO GLAD 

**.**

Poetry tends to be about nature, because nature is both constant and changing. The seasons were constant, the colours were constant, but the state of the trees and mountains, and the amount of rain or snow, that would change. Right now, Hijikata wishes for rain. Heavy, freezing rain. Kyoto's summers were nothing like Edo's, the humidity so heavy he feels like he could wring moisture out of his clothes and even his hair. At least it's better than a drought, but he misses the more temperate, lazy summers.

The weather inches into his mind and prickles at his mood. He's already known for a quick response and stern behaviour, and the sticky, disgusting state of things doesn't help. Writing feels sluggish, and so does everything else. Poetry might be made of nature, but there is nothing he's put down on paper about this seasons that would sound elegant or worth remembering. Better for it to pass quickly.

If only it would _rain_. Rain to clear the heavy air, rain to soak up the misery and drown it. Rain is worth writing about. As of right now, he's given up, and has resigned himself to paperwork. Sano would say something about sake helping, but he doesn't even think ice water would help. If he dunked his head in a bucket of cold water, he would be back to his previous state within minutes. Half an hour of relief, if he was lucky. In this irritable state, Hijikata finishes another stack of reports (Shinpachi has surprisingly good handwriting, as does Heisuke. To be honest, it's only Souji who write illegibly) and contemplates tea. Very cold tea. Surely that's not too much to ask of Yukimura, right? But then he feels bad making her run around in this heat for him. He might as well just take cold water. Anything to clear the foggy, oppressive heat. Maybe he should write haiku about the shitty state of mind he's in; he could read it and laugh at himself.

Hijikata stands and when he slides open the door, he catches sight of Saitou coming up to the entrance of his room. "Ah. Saitou."

"I was about to seek you out."

"Mm. I see." Even in this heat, Saitou wears that scarf. How he does it, Hijikata has no idea. "What is it?"

"I made tea—cold, and I was wondering if you would like any."

"Actually, you read my mind." Hijikata raises a hand. "I was going to make myself some."

"I would bring it, but I was afraid it would grow tepid on its way." He does not say 'It is in my room,' but Hijikata can understand the underlying invitation. This is Saitou, after all.

"It's fine, I'll go with you. I need the walk." He's sat for most of today and his legs and back would welcome it. Wistfulness tugs at him as he tries to remember the last time he trained, that wasn't in early morning before the sun rose. "Is all well?"

"Yes."

"Excellent." Saitou's single-word replies encompassed everything; if there is one iota of something wrong, he would tell Hijikata.

The walk to Saitou's room is short. He looks at the sliver of moon, sullenly pushing its way out of the clouds. Seems like even _it_ has gotten enough of this weather. There's not even a wind, just dust stirred up by their feet. But he finds himself pleasantly surprised that Saitou's room feels maybe two degrees cooler.

"What did you do with it?" He tugs at his bangs, which were trying to stick against his skin.

"My room doesn't face the sun at any time." Saitou answers, pouring tea with a practiced hand. "In the summer, it is beneficial."

He raises an eyebrow. "What about the winter?"

"It is not a problem."

"That's not what I asked."

Saitou passes him a cup. "During the day, it's not so bad." His gaze shifts, to some random corner or pattern in the tatami. "At night, if it is too much, I borrow someone else's room."

"It must be a good thing that you don't snore. I mean," he hurriedly adds on, "Not that anyone would mind? Snoring is normal."

_Way to go, Hijikata. Bring up that fact you know these things._

It's not like he can help it, because they know each other so well. He sips his tea, and watches Saitou unwind the scarf and fold it in a neat pile next to his futon. The tea, blissfully cool, slips down his throat and yet also travels upwards to his ears and he sighs. The taste of barley lingers nicely, too. It lingers like how Saitou's hand rests on the scarf, before it tugs the collar of his clothes looser.

"Isn't that hot during the day? That, and your hair." He looks pointedly at the length of it, lying on Saitou's shoulder.

"I am used to it. And if I were to complain about the heat, it would set a bad example for my men."

It's true; Hijikata has to bite his tongue to say nothing about his own state of things, even though it's quite obvious he's more snappish. "I should learn from you. What if you were fukuchou, Saitou?"

Saitou makes a sound that could be a laugh or a choke. "I couldn't. I'm not that sort of person."

"You've got a stability that people like."

"But I could mislead. You have discipline."

"Discipline, hn." He shrugs, and empties his cup. "I yell too much these days. Souji loves to remind me."

"Souji is in your position, though."

He snorts, nose crinkling. "I can't even imagine that." Gods save them all if the Shinsengumi was run by him. They'd really be like beasts chasing for blood. "But…I'm partially asking you for advice, I suppose. If you _were_ in charge, how would you handle things."

The silence the follows isn't uncomfortable, because Saitou is rotating the cup in his hand as he thinks, and Hijikata catches himself staring. Saitou has long fingers, somehow both elegant and battle-ready. They're longer than his…and he pours himself more tea before he can think anymore on that matter.

"I believe I would handle them the same way as you do," his third captain finally answers, "Time has proven what succeeds and what fails, and while I wouldn't say gentleness has no part in the Shinsengumi, it's discipline that endures. Burdens don't change with the person carrying it."

 _What?_ Hijikata grunts. "That was both outstanding clear and incredibly confusing, Saitou. I…think I understood? In any case, I'll keep a list of instructions for if I die, then."

"You won't die. Not anytime soon."

"Is that a prophecy?"

"An observation. You're…needed." Saitou sets his cup down, and it doesn't clink, amazingly. "For many more years."

"Needed. What about wanted?"

"That, too."

Hijikata is being ridiculous and he knows it. "What are you personal thoughts on that?" Ugh, did he really say that. It sounds like he's interviewing a newbie. But he's curious.

"On what people ask of you, or what I think of you?"

"…the second."

Saitou raises his eyes. "I believe you already know." His feet shift, but not in the way that meant he was ill-at-ease.

"I want to hear it again. If that's all right."

"Hear it? Or see it?"

The heat is still awful, but seems bearable when compared to the feeling that was sitting in his stomach and working its way up. This one didn't just cling to him like a bothersome insect. It was teeming, waiting. Ready. He doesn't even understand why tonight but he can't be bothered to analyse the situation. "Whichever you want." Maybe he sounds overeager, but it's been a long day, and Saitou at the end of it feels like sanctuary.

It's always interesting, to see Saitou's eyes widen and a millisecond of change in his features before it once again gives way to his usual expression. In the mouth at least. In his eyes, there's calm…and yearning.

He marvels that Saitou's hand is cool. Maybe it was from the cup, from the tea. But the feel of it against his cheek is welcoming and he covers it with his own fingers. "I don't know how you do it."

"Do what?"

His laughter sounds too loud, like it might ruin the moment. "I don't even know." _Be you, I guess._ He turns his face and brushes his mouth against that open palm. Saitou, to his credit, only shows movement in the act of swallowing, the rest of his muscles motionless.

Hijikata doesn't really count the months, but it's been some time. That's why he can reach out and drag his fingers through Saitou's hair, freeing it. Even those strands don't feel hot. Is Saitou just at a lower temperature? That would be a legitimate question, if he doesn't already what is underneath all the layers. And push them aside he does, as quickly as he can. His hand would be sweaty, but holding a cup that was ice-cold had helped. The skin underneath his fingertips is warm but not burning, but it would be soon enough. It always was. Saitou might have an affinity for snow, but there was nothing cold-blooded about him. They were all killers, but it didn't mean they brought that with them into bed. Could, but didn't. Here, they were just two people sharing company.

And then Saitou slides another hand down his collarbone and he forgets where he's going, both in actions and thoughts. All he cares about is following that hand as it trails lower and lower, and he hooks his nails in Saitou's hair to pull him in for a kiss. Maybe he should just write poetry about people. Even if he couldn't do Saitou justice. But did anyone? Saitou is a class in himself, and not just because of his mannerisms. Hijikata has lain with others, and while none of them were bad, none of them were Saitou. Guess he's a little biased. A little. He trusts all his captains, and he is fond of them and all their exasperating ways, but Saitou, the last to join, has always had a certain place. Put something in Saitou's keep, and it will be guarded. He didn't even have to ask for discretion when it comes to this, because it'll be automatically given.

Hijikata finally ends up nudging his knee in between Saitou's thighs, and is satisfied to hear the hitch in breathing, for he's still kissing him. Although he's hard-pressed to really be smug, because Saitou and his damnable fingers are already busy. There's probably a nice way to put it, but he's given up on metaphors or similes. Never mind that if he wrote something like this down as haiku, Souji would find it, and was smart enough to put two and two together. So he drowns out his thoughts in the downpour that is Saitou instead. Maybe he doesn't need words for this. He tastes tea when they kiss, and wonders what would it be like if they dumped ice water all over each other. Would it ruin the mood, or would it further it along?

They stretch out on the ground, and the heat is worse than before, but now there's reasons to it. Flushed, hair sticking their faces, and limbs sticking together. Saitou has taken Hijikata's fingers in his mouth and Hijikata almost can't believe how such a simple thing could be so sensual. It's just a tongue, just a mouth…just Saitou. How he still moves at his own pace when though his hands are busy, and it'd end so quickly if not for Hijikata pulling away.

"What of I put you in charge of something," he hurries along with his sentence before he's entirely distracted. "A very certain someone. How would you handle the situation?" And he's not speaking duties. Not the least bit.

Saitou, underneath him, shifts. "Handle?" He enunciates that word.

"Yeah. Handle." He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. "Go on."

Saitou breathes audibly, shoulders rising and falling. "I would—" He sits up, and cups his hand against Hijikata's face. "Still follow your example, in being firm."

"As in yelling?"

"In how you're persuasive."

He'd say something about himself being the least persuasive, but Saitou's gotten a hold of his wrists and pinned them with his fingers, above his head. Just gentle pressure that seems heavier than anything else. Grace is an odd thing to name for a fighter, but not for Saitou. He's graceful from the way his hair lies over one shoulder to how he stretches out his hand and those things, down to his feet.

Pinned like this, Hijikata can't be touching as much as he wants to. The most he can do is roll his hips and twist his head from side to side until Saitou plants a knee against his thigh.

"Are you agitated?" Saitou asks him.

"Is that supposed to be rhetorical." _Yes_.

"Please have patience, fukuchou."

 _Fuck_. "Just for you, I'll try." He concentrates his movement into all his toes, but it feels like it's short of unfeasible when Saitou traces his jawline with his tongue and works his way down. His hair follows, sweeping in a pattern that's light and soft, but feels like it's slowly lighting his skin on fire. Holding still is nigh impossible.

Maybe it's because he's restless, his mind always focusing on many things all at once. But that's why he is with Saitou, because he's only focusing on one thing, and one person. There's nothing to distract, not even the heat or his hair is getting stuck in his mouth. There's just Saitou touching him in the way only he can, and even when he releases Hijikata's wrists because his reach isn't long enough, Hijikata keeps his hands there, out of respect. Or maybe he's just keeping them there, in order to cling to the blankets to ground himself, because Saitou is between his thighs now and he's reduced to sounds and gestures. Almost in a helpless way, but it's not. He's just merely putting himself in someone else's hands and it feels too good. It takes more willpower to not jerk his hips up, more than it does to make sure he's not loud, but at the same time, he _can't_ move. It's as if something so powerful has him there, suspended, and he has to _wait_.

Finally, he can't stand it anymore, and he props himself up so he can see. The instant Saitou tilts his own head up and their gazes meet, the sight of desire and eagerness matching his, is what undoes him. He yanks at dark strands of his that aren't is as everything suddenly speeds up and aches in the best way possible across his body and melts away into perfect pleasure. He grinds his teeth, head arching and limbs akimbo, but Saitou doesn't budge, not until he's spent and fallen back. Only then does he shift back up, swiping his thumb across his lips.

"…persuasive." Damn, something like that shouldn't have been this good. It's an act of service, but Saitou makes it seem like the highest privilege. Fighting the urge to lie there, he rolls on his side to kiss Saitou, their chins and noses bumping. "Very persuasive. I don't think I am like that."

"But you are." Saitou's voice is a little scratchier, but some abrasion is hardly enough to wear away at him. "You inspire men to follow you, and you demand respect from others. Only a few have that sort of power."

"Heh. But enough about me." He shakes his hair out of his eyes, and goes back to touching Saitou, now he once again can. "How are you so calm?" When his hand presses against a sternum, Saitou breathes very, very deeply. "Does anything ever unnerve you?"

"There were things, yes. But prudence taught me to handle things. I think—" His words hitch because Hijikata's hand is dipping lower and drawing circles over a hipbone, "—both are needed. You and I."

"That's true." It's what keeps them together. Kondou raises morale, Hijikata puts things in order, and his captains all bring their strengths. That's what makes them Shinsengumi.

However, it's hard to think of work when he's trying to do things, like making Saitou squirm and dig his fingers in Hijikata's shoulder. How many people actually get to see Saitou come apart, knees pressed together and the effort he makes at keeping silent. Maybe a little exaggerated if he says that Saitou is graceful even during all of this, gasping and eyes half-lidded as he reaches his peak and buries his head just under Hijikata's ear as he shudders and Hijikata strokes his other hand through his hair.

If he could, he would really write all the poetry and sound like some doting lover. Yet Saitou is worth that, all the words and the adjectives and comparisons. He is asset, he is strength, and he is trust. As Hijikata pulls his hand back, he wonders, out of the two of them, which one was the luckier one. Probably him. Saitou's not a prize, he's just…Saitou. Special. Valuable. Treasured.

His thoughts run together like a stream and he gives up trying to put into words what he feels about this moment. It's cooler, and not just because the night is late; sometimes some stimulation and then lying still is what helps. Sweat cools and he sighs in satisfaction. Next to him, Saitou is curled up and has an arm draped over Hijikata's torso. It's a very comfortable position, good for falling asleep in.

"I can't stay tonight." This statement is something very regrettable. "I have…" his voice trails off, as his mind returns to the list of things he has to do before tomorrow morning. There are moments he regrets being in command.

"I understand." Saitou sits up, and offers his hand.

With great reluctance, Hijikata allows himself to be pulled up, and he slowly puts himself back together. Saitou combs his hair back in a few minutes (Hijikata wishes he took more time), before putting on a yukata. He leaves his hair down, though by habit it always slips down his right shoulder.

"Fukuchou, I have a request."

"Hm?"

Saitou smooths out the collar of Hijikata's kimono as he speaks. "Please try to get some sleep tonight. It would be beneficial."

"I'll see if that's fulfillable." Sleepless nights aren't uncommon, and both of them know it. He drags the shoji door open. "I have my own request."

"Yes?"

Hijikata turns, and curls a finger under Saitou's chin to give him a final kiss. "I don't mind if you actually use my name, Saitou." First names…well, he can't imagine using 'Hajime' anytime soon. But he thinks about Saitou using 'Hijikata-san' and…hopes. Hopes a lot.

"I—" What do you know, Saitou actually flushes, more than he does during sex. "Next time," he says, so softly it's close to a mumble.

Curious. So this is the point of vulnerability? It's endearing. "I'll look forward to it." With his shoes on, there's nothing else to keep him there, unless it be an urge to disregard all responsibility. "Thank you for the tea, and good night, Saitou."

"Good night," he hears Saitou answer, and he imagines his name being said right after that.

The heat is still prickly, and there's no breeze as usual when he sits down at his desk to ponder things again. However, his head is certainly clearer. After a minute, he pulls out a book from his drawer, casting a disparaging look at the papers that still require his attention. One haiku isn't enough to break his concentration.

He finds a new brush, dips it, and writes. Writing poetry is like a battle. You have to aim for the right words, the right moment. There must be conciseness. There must be feeling. And in his mind, he see Saitou, bending over him, holding him down. Out of context, no one would understand it. But they don't do this for anyone, they do it for each other.

And hopefully Souji never finds this haiku. But that's unbelievable; Souji's always trying. Hijikata sets the book aside and pinches the bridge of his nose, and hopes he's masked it well enough that it can pass for futile efforts like the scorned plum blossom haiku, so long ago.

But he had to try, to capture the sense. In some ways, it's like a way of appreciation. It's probably not abnormal for someone to sleep with someone else for advantages or for other reasons. Goodness knows that in some places it's probably typical practice. They could've. If he had demanded this of Saitou, it would've been given to him. Perhaps it's because he knows that, he didn't want it.

Somehow, they ended up here. And he's grateful.

 _A rapture of rain_  
_Transfixes all those that gaze_  
_In a perfect calm_

Yes, poetry written on a person, who is just as constant at nature and yet still pliable to change, is certainly more rewarding then writing about trees. Not that he's showing this one to Saitou. He's going to be tearing this one out and keeping it elsewhere, safe out of Souji's hands and evidently, away from Saitou's eyes. Or maybe he'll just start a private collection, because they certainly are not done, not by far.

Imagination is always better with a good muse, they said. And he has one of the best at the moment.

**_.end._ **

**Author's Note:**

> tbh, my haiku is probably worse that Master Hogyaku’s. I’m sorry, Hijikata…


End file.
